


Miles To Go Before I Sleep

by cyphernaut



Series: Miles to Go [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:43:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyphernaut/pseuds/cyphernaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to a prompt on the Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme.  Prompt in full in the notes.</p><p>Sherlock charges Mycroft with John's safety while he's off tearing down Moriarty's web.  Mycroft takes this a step further and brings John home with him, using what he knows of Sherlock and John's (non-sexual) ageplay relationship to create an impromptu "happy family" with Greg.</p><p>It's less creepy and more fluffy than it sounds in the description.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the prompt in full:
> 
> Sherlock charges Mycroft with John's safety while he's off tearing down Moriarty's web.
> 
> John is not dealing well with his partner's death, as well as its impact on his career and other areas of his life (I would imagine the press would have a field day making him complicit in Sherlock's "fraud" or at the very least portraying him as a fool for falling for the lies, which would make him a target in more areas than a sniper's scope).
> 
> Mycroft decides it's time to intervene and as much as he'd like to let John know Sherlock is alive, he also knows that if Sherlock were to be killed on his mission, it would just make things doubly painful for John. He decides John simply needs an escape from everything.
> 
> Thanks to some well-hidden cameras even his brother was unable to detect, he has been aware for some time of a very private aspect of his brother and John's relationship.
> 
> When things get too stressful after a rough case and hours/days acting as conscience for his partner and John is nearing his breaking point, Sherlock and he often engage in a bit of age play: Sherlock acts as daddy and John gets to escape into childhood for as long as the game goes on. Stressing again: non-sexual age play, this game does not carry over to the bedroom.
> 
> Of course, being as observant as his brother, he's figured out the triggers and releases his brother uses to begin and end the game and figures he can employ them himself.
> 
> Since Lestrade has been missing his own children since his less-than-amicable divorce from his wife, Mycroft decides they need to bring John home and play happy families until Sherlock returns.

John watched Sherlock fall from the sky, watched him tumble end over end until John was blinded by the flash of cameras and the glare of a harsh desert sun that he'd though he'd left forever. He called out, straining to be heard over the shouted questions and artillery fire, certain that if he just said the right thing, he could stop it all from happening. He couldn't hear his own voice, but his daddy turned toward him, looking him straight in the eyes before plummeting to the ground.

“Daddy!” John shouted, sitting up in bed and wiping the sweat from his face.

He looked around at the strange room, and it all came flooding back to him: Sherlock jumping off the roof of Bart's, reporters hounding his every move, the depression and isolation until Mycroft showed up and flatly announced, “You'll be coming home with me.” Mycroft had known everything to say, each nuance that would compel John to give up control and sit with his knees tucked under his chin whilst Greg packed a bag for him and Mycroft rested a gloved hand on the back of his head. He'd sat nestled between them in the car, disoriented and shaking as Greg reassured him that everything would be all right, whatever all right meant in this new reality he found himself in. John hadn't fought it, hopeful that what Mycroft and Greg provided would be better than what John had done for himself. He'd not been wrong.

John waited for Greg to come in, as he had done the past several nights, sitting at the edge of the bed and rubbing John's back until he fell back to sleep. Instead of Greg's soft rushing footsteps, though, John heard the steady click of shoes on the hardwood floor, and Mycroft soon appeared in the doorway.

“Where's Greg?”

“Greg is sleeping, as you should be,” Mycroft answered, walking over to sit at the edge of the bed.

John squirmed uneasily and pulled the duvet closer. Mycroft's waistcoat and shirtsleeves weren't nearly as comforting as Greg's soft tee shirts. John was scared to lean into them. “I had a nightmare.”

“That's to be expected, given recent events. I'm sure it was very frightening at the time, but there's nothing to be scared about now that it's over.” Mycroft gave him a perfunctory pat on the knee. “You're quite safe here. Lie down and go back to sleep.”

John shook his head, glad that he had not leaned in for a hug from Mycroft. “I want Greg.”

“No. Greg is sleeping.” Mycroft stared at him with the same stern look his daddy had when he forbade John to do something. It made John feel even smaller in a bed that was too large for him and too empty of his daddy. “He had a very difficult night at work and he doesn't need to be woken up.”

They were all having difficult nights, all except Mycroft, who was on Beijing time for the next week and a half. He slept in the late afternoon and early evening, and as long as John was quiet he was allowed to do as he pleased until Greg came home, until last night when Greg hadn't come home at all and Mycroft had got up early to order John takeaway and send him off to bed. If Greg had been there, they could have eaten it together in the blanket fort that John had made for that very purpose, but instead John had sat alone at the table whilst Mycroft carried on a phone conversation in French.

Greg hadn't kissed him goodnight either, and John was feeling the lack of affection keenly. He shifted slightly away from Mycroft and pushed the duvet from his legs as Mycroft looked on suspiciously. It was too late, though. John scrambled away from him and was in the hallway before Mycroft had a chance to grab him. If it had been his daddy, he might have been caught, but Mycroft wasn't as fast. Besides, John would have wanted to get caught by his daddy. He flung open Mycroft and Greg's door and jumped in into bed beside Greg, pulling the duvet up over his head.

Greg started awake, then softened when he saw John hiding beside him. “What's the matter?”

“I had a nightmare,” John answered, and Greg gave him the kisses and cuddles he had wanted in the beginning.

Mycroft's footsteps approached, and John buried his face into Greg's shoulder.

“I specifically told you not to wake Greg up.”

“It's okay,” Greg answered, carding his fingers through John's hair. “He can wake me up if he's upset.”

“It's not okay. You need your sleep, and he needs to follow instructions.”

Greg didn't answer, but he continued to massage John's scalp and rub his back until John's breath deepened and he lay limp in Greg's arms. He was too comfortable to move, and he floated, soaking in the warmth of Greg's body as they lay together. Mycroft's soft whisper drifted into his consciousness.

“You constantly allow him to do things I've forbidden, and it weakens my authority.”

“Then don't be a git, and I won't have to,” Greg answered, and John's ears perked up immediately. It was not a conversation he was supposed to hear. “He's scared, and he needs comfort.”

“He's awake, and he's listening,” Mycroft said, and Greg pulled back slightly.

“Are you awake?” he asked, and John nuzzled back into him in reply. “Sorry. Mycroft is not a git. I shouldn't have said that.”

John didn't care whether Mycroft was a git or not. He just wanted Greg to keep cuddling him. When he heard Mycroft's footsteps getting closer, he clutched harder at Greg, just in case Mycroft was going to send him back to his room. Instead, though, Mycroft placed a kiss at his temple, then kissed Greg as well. “Good night,” he whispered.

John settled himself comfortably in Greg's arms. It wasn't good yet, but at least it was getting better.

* * *

The bedroom was silent when John arose. Greg hadn't woken him for breakfast, and John made his way toward the kitchen to see whether there was anything he could make for himself. He was opening the refrigerator when Mycroft spoke behind him.

“Good morning, John.”

John spun around and gasped, feeling like he'd been caught in the midst of something naughty, even though he hadn't broken any rules that he knew of. Mycroft's scrutinizing gaze only made the feeling worse.

“Where's Greg?”

Mycroft's face tightened slightly. “Greg left early for work. What would you like for breakfast?”

Overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of it all, John hugged himself and looked at the floor.

“Would you like toast and jam?” he asked, and John nodded. He really wanted Weetabix, but Mycroft and Greg didn't have any. Greg had promised that he'd get some for them, but he hadn't had a chance yet. John was scared to tell Mycroft, who was walking past him to the cupboard. “Wash your hands and sit down.”

Sitting at the breakfast table, John watched Mycroft curiously. He'd never imagined Mycroft doing something so mundane as making breakfast. It seemed incongruous with the man he knew, and he half expected Mycroft to make a cryptic phone call and wait for toast and jam to mysteriously appear on the table. Instead, Mycroft put the bread the in toaster just like any normal person would do. After it was done, he spread a thin layer of jam over it, and set the plate in front of John. John poked at it, not very hungry and unwilling to eat as Mycroft towered over him.

“After you've finished, please come to my office. I'd like to talk to you.”

John stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth, and Mycroft left him alone. 

He took his time, but soon enough he was setting his plate in the sink and dragging his feet as he headed toward Mycroft's office. Mycroft had never been unkind to John, never lost his temper or done anything that would give John a reason to be scared of him, but something about him made John want to hide away. Sometimes Mycroft's expression or turn of phrase was so close to Sherlock's that John felt like he was staring into his daddy's eyes just to lose him all over again. John stopped just outside the door.

“Ah, John, come in, please.” John crept in, looking around for the first time. Greg always diverted him before he got too close to Mycroft's office, whispering that Mycroft was working and shouldn't be disturbed. John had tried to look inside when Mycroft was sleeping, but the door had always been locked. The office was disappointingly boring, nothing like the Bond villain lair that John had hoped to see. He wondered why Mycroft kept it locked at all.

The room was just as tidy as any other in Mycroft and Greg's home, with most surfaces clear of everything but the bare essentials. A box of Legos on a side table caught his eye, and he looked closer. It sat next to two zigsaw puzzles, an activity book, and a box of crayons.

“Those are for you,” Mycroft confirmed from behind his desk. “Greg and I will both be working longer hours these next few days, and I thought you could use something to occupy yourself. Consider it an advance reward for your good behaviour today.”

John wondered how good he would have to be. “Thank you.”

“I'm sure we'd all like to see you happy here. Sit down, please.” Mycroft indicated the large wing back chair across from his desk, and John sunk down into it. He pulled his feet up into the seat with him, trying to get comfortable, and instead feeling swallowed up by the large chair.

“As you know, my brother entrusted me with keeping you safe, and as he didn't go into specifics, I can only assume that he expected me to use my best judgement.” John fingered the hem of his tee shirt. He knew his daddy had told Mycroft to look after him, but John hadn't known anything about it until Mycroft had shown up to take him away. He still didn't understand what the exact nature of his relationship with Mycroft was supposed to be or, more importantly, whether Mycroft had even wanted him. “To that end, I've brought you here, and I'm quite confident that you are safer now than you have been at any other point in your life.”

Mycroft paused, as if John were supposed to say something, but John didn't know what it was. He chewed on his bottom lip and adjusted his body in the chair, curling his knees up to his chin as Mycroft continued speaking.

“That said, I understand that this has been a very difficult time for you, and that the change of environment has been compounding factor. So, though I may not seem sympathetic to you and your situation, please know that I am. I'm using every resource at my disposal to ensure that this is a comfortable environment for you.” John let his mind wander as he sucked on the tips of his fingers, something he knew Mycroft didn't like but was somehow unable to stop himself from doing. “Clearly Greg is better at supporting you emotionally, but if there's anything I can do to make this adjustment easier for you, I hope you will let me know.”

He paused again, and John looked up at the silence. Mycroft was staring at him expectantly. “John, do you understand?”

John nodded, then stopped to think about it and shook his head.

“What don't you understand?”

Biting lightly at his knuckles, John considered the question. “All the words you said,” he finally answered around the fingers in his mouth.

Mycroft stood to walk around the desk toward John, his face unreadable, and John shrunk back in his chair, turning to hide his own face in the soft leather.

“Stand up, please.”

After peeking out to see Mycroft towering over him, John shook his head quickly.

“John, do as I say.”

Slowly, John unfolded himself from the chair and stood before Mycroft, staring at his bare feet up toe to toe with Mycroft's polished leather shoes. He didn't react when Mycroft gently pulled his fingers from his mouth and lightly held his shoulders.

“John, I want you to be happy here. Is there anything I can do to make you happier?”

John shook his head and waited. He didn't dare look up to Mycroft's face, afraid of the expression he might see there. He wasn't prepared when Mycroft leaned forward to kiss him right above his forehead. It was achingly familiar and alien at the same time. He was so caught up in the feeling that he didn't notice his own tears until Mycroft pulled back from him.

“Why are you crying?”

“That's how Daddy used to kiss me,” John sobbed.

“Ah,” Mycroft said, as if he suddenly knew everything there was to know about John, and maybe he did. With one hand on the back of John's head and other between his shoulder blades, he pulled John tight against his chest, letting John sob out his grief into his shoulder. 

When he'd cried himself out, John wriggled out of Mycroft's grasp and wiped at his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“There's no need to apologise,” Mycroft answered, straightening his clothes and discreetly averting his eyes as John pulled himself together. “It can be difficult to keep your composure at times like this.”

Mycroft never seemed to have difficulty keeping his composure. Sometimes it seemed that he wasn't even sad that his own brother had died. Greg said that he just worked harder when he was very sad, and John could admit that Mycroft had been working very hard indeed since John had moved in. In fact, by the time John had got his breathing back to normal, Mycroft was already sitting at his desk looking through a file. 

“Go wash your face and get dressed,” he said. “Afterwards, you can take your things to your room and play. If you'd rather stay here, you may, but you'll need to be quiet, and I'll need to send you from the room occasionally.”

John considered his options as Mycroft immersed himself in the files before him. The gifts were exactly what he would have chosen for himself, though how Mycroft knew was a mystery. The ghost of his touch still lingered on John's body.

“I'll stay here with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be the last, though it's hard to say. It may be another two. Sorry I'm no good at estimating these things.

John lay on the floor of Mycroft's office finishing up another drawing. It was a picture of Mycroft sitting at his desk and talking on the phone, as the real Mycroft had been doing all morning. So far John had three pictures of Mycroft, five pictures of Greg, two pictures of the monster that lived in the basement of the fortress he'd made out of Legos, and three pages filled with drawings of all his daddy's favourite things. He also had two mess-ups that he had scribbled over.

“Shenme shihou,” he heard Mycroft say from the other side of the room.

John drew a speech bubble from Mycroft's mouth and carefully printed, “Shimma shihoe.” inside.

He shaded in the desk and drew a bird flying outside the window. When everything was exactly as he wanted, he put the drawing on his stack and turned to the half finished jigsaw puzzle beside him.

“Xiao deng yi xia,” Mycroft said, and John looked up. That's what Mycroft always said before he asked John to leave.

“Shah dunnee shah,” John absently repeated under his breath.

“John, step outside the room, please,” Mycroft said, covering the phone receiver with his hand. “I'll call you back inside in a moment.”

John took the activity book and some crayons and went to the hallway, closing the door behind him and sliding down to sit with the book resting on his knees. He found a maze that looked interesting and started tracing a path with his finger. He could hear the occasional murmur of Mycroft's voice, but nothing distinct through the wall. He took a red crayon from the box and coloured over the correct path.

By the time Mycroft opened the door, John had finished another maze, a connect-the-dots, and was colouring in a picture of some mice playing football. He was already planning to draw a picture of him and Greg playing football when he got back inside. Maybe Mycroft could buy them a ball and they could play while he was sleeping.

“You can come back in, now. We'll eat lunch in half an hour. Would you like spinach and cheese ravioli?”

John nodded, unconcerned with anything half an hour in the future, and followed Mycroft back inside the office. “Mycroft, what's 'Shah dunnee shah'?”

“Hmm?” Mycroft was already looking at his files.

“You always say 'Shah dunnee shah' to the people on the phone,” John climbed up onto his knees in the chair opposite Mycroft and leaned over to see what he was working on. His daddy always let him help with experiments. John would look in the microscope and tell his daddy what he saw, and sometimes his daddy gave him hints and they made deductions together.

Mycroft closed the file. “Xiao deng yi xia,” he corrected.

“Shao dungee shah,” John repeated, and Mycroft nodded his approval.

“It means, 'Wait a moment,' in Chinese.”

“Oh.” John jumped off the chair and ran over to his drawings while he still had Mycroft's attention. “What's 'Shimma shihoe'?”

Instead of answering, Mycroft stood and walked over to where John's pictures lay. He knelt down beside John on the floor. “May I see these, please?”

John nodded, and Mycroft looked through every picture, even John's mess-ups, then flipped through the activity book as well. He took a picture of himself from the stack and showed it to John.

“May I have this one?” he asked, and John nodded again.

“That one's you, and you're saying, 'Woe deedee dowluh mayo,' and you're typing on the computer.”

“I see.” Mycroft studied the picture with a small frown and started back to his desk.

“What does it mean?” John asked, and Mycroft turned back to him.

“Would you like to learn Chinese, John? I can hire you a tutor if you'd like.”

Learning Chinese sounded like fun, but the thought of having to sit with a stranger was awful. John shook his head. “I only want you to teach me.”

Sitting back down at the desk, Mycroft set the picture down and gave John his full attention. It was an expression John didn't recognize, and he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing.

“I'll teach you at lunch.”

“Really?” John asked, astonished. Mycroft usually talked on the phone or looked at his files whilst John was eating. Any conversation was limited to John's table manners or whether he was still hungry.

“Yes.” Mycroft rifled though his papers. “But I have several things to do before then. If you're able to play quietly, you may stay here.”

Unwilling to do anything to upset his good luck, John set about drawing a picture of Mycroft teaching him Chinese, and staying as quiet as he could.

* * *

John pushed the his ravioli around the plate with his fork, counting them off as he moved each one to the side. “Ee, are, san, sih, woo.”

“Stop playing with your food, John. If you're finished, you may be excused from the table.”

“I'm still eating,” John said, grabbing his plate before Mycroft could clear it away.

Mycroft looked at him suspiciously, and John bit his lip. Mycroft had finished his lunch a while ago, but John hoped to stretch the meal out as long as possible, even after his interest in learning Chinese had waned. He was tired of playing by himself, and Greg wouldn't be back until dinner time. Before Mycroft could accuse him of dawdling, he speared a piece of cold ravioli and stuck it in his mouth. Apparently tired of waiting, Mycroft stood and carried his own plate to the sink. John twisted in his chair to look at him.

“Mycroft, are you my uncle?”

“If I'm your father's brother, then I am your uncle.” Mycroft came back to stare staidly down at John. “Finish your lunch.”

“Then is Greg my uncle, too?” John asked as he continued to eat ravioli under Mycroft's watchful eye. 

“Social convention says yes.” 

John wondered why he didn't call them Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg, but he didn't dare ask. He accidentally finished the rest of his lunch, and Mycroft took the plate from him and set it in the sink. John hurried after him as he headed back to his office.

“Mycroft, why do you always work, even when you're at home?”

Mycroft unlocked the office door and let the two of them in, setting himself up at his desk as he answered John. “Because people's lives depend on the work that I do, and most of it is urgent.”

“Can I help you?” Mycroft's work didn't seem as fun as John's daddy's had been. There were no experiments or specimens to look at, but John had seen a glimpse of some photos in Mycroft's file folders, and he thought maybe he could look at those.

Mycroft continued to study his papers. “No.”

“But I can look at the photos.”

“No,” Mycroft said firmly, looking up at John with a stare that brooked no argument. “Finish your puzzle. I need to work.”

John turned back to his puzzle, his protest caught firmly in his throat, where it grew into a lump that wouldn't go away. The puzzle pieces blurred through his tears, and he bit his lip to stay quiet.

“There's no need to cry when you don't get your way,” Mycroft said over the soft sound of his pen scratching on paper. “You were perfectly happy this morning playing with your puzzle.”

Sobbing harder, John covered his face in his hands. He didn't notice Mycroft move until a hand fell gently on the back of his neck, just like his daddy's would have done. For a few seconds, he allowed himself to pretend that it was his daddy, come back to make sure that John was okay. They were going to go back to their flat and order takaway and do experiments together. Then, he wrapped his arms around a torso that was clearly Mycroft's. Mycroft returned the embrace, holding him close while the sobs subsided.

“I apologise,” Mycroft said.

“Why?” John didn't even understand why he himself was crying, let alone what Mycroft had done to him.

Keeping his answers to himself, Mycroft pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the tears from John's face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. I waited until I knew it was over. Thanks for your patience. I will be working on Hurricane, next.
> 
> Also, I have to admit I was hoping there were some other Chinese speakers out there who would recognize what Mycroft didn't want to translate and why. Maybe you are just quiet? :D

As soon as John heard Greg's key in the lock, he sprung from his pile of Legos and ran to the door to meet him. Greg's shopping bags swung wildly as John tackled him in a hug.

“Uncle Greg!” he said as Greg's grocery laden arms wrapped around him.

“Uncle, hmm?” asked Greg, kicking the door shut behind him. When he started walking, John didn't let go, instead allowing himself to be propelled backward toward the kitchen.

“Mycroft said you're my uncle. Did you get Weetabix?”

“Yes, and milk, but we're having pad thai for dinner.” Greg disentangled himself from John's arms in order to put the food away. He set the takeaway on the table, and John peered into the bag, then plastered himself to Greg's side.

“Can we eat in the lounge so you can help me build my Lego spaceship?”

“Let's eat at the table, and I'll help you afterwards.”

John's daddy had always let them eat in the lounge, sometimes because the kitchen table had an experiment on it, but most of the time just because that's what John wanted. Mycroft only liked John to eat at the kitchen table, though, even when John had taken a sheet from his own bed to make a picnic on the floor. Greg hadn't seemed to care, but he changed his mind to agree with Mycroft a lot. John gnawed on his bottom lip, then wrapped his hands firmly around Greg's waist. Sometimes John could change Greg's mind back.

“But I want to eat in the lounge,” he wheedled into Greg's shirt, and Greg ran his fingers through John's hair. “Please, Uncle Greg?”

It wouldn't have worked with his daddy or Mycroft, both of whom would have told him “No,”with a firm voice and a face to match, but Greg's chest rose and fell with a defeated sigh that prompted John to look up hopefully.

“All right. Just don't tell-” Greg cut himself off with a glance toward the kitchen door. “Just don't spill anything. And no drinks.”

John grinned and ran back to his Legos. Greg soon followed with their food, and they sat together, picking at the pad thai and piecing together the spaceship. It was more difficult than the fort that John had made earlier, and he sucked on the tips of his fingers as he tried to figure out the wing.

“Mycroft got you a lot of toys,” Greg commented, looking over the puzzles and pictures John had been working on.

“Yeah, it's so I won't bother him when he's working.”

“You know what I think?” Greg finished up the pad thai and started to clear away the mess. “I think it's because he loves you.”

The wing started to take shape under John's hands. “No, he said it's so I'll be good and not bother him.”

“Did he, now.” Greg frowned, so John reached over to give him a hug and kiss. It worked, and Greg smiled at him and kissed him back right on the nose. “I've got a present for you, too.”

Greg left the room, only to come back a moment later with a large stuffed mouse in hand. It had large ears and grey fur, and John reached for it before he even realized what he was doing. Grinning, Greg placed it in John's arms and sat down beside him.

“You like it, then?”

The mouse was soft and floppy and imminently huggable, and John squeezed it to his chest. “I love him. Thank you.”

* * *

John woke with a start, sweating and clutching at Mousie, the image of his daddy plummeting to the ground persistently floating in front of his eyes in the dark room. He listened for footsteps, but didn't hear either Greg or Mycroft coming, and instead caught the soft murmur of voices from their bedroom. He slipped out of bed, Mousie in hand, and started for their room.

“...Sherlock say...” Greg's voice barely filtered down the hallway, and John froze. They were talking about his daddy. He hugged Mousie harder and listened silently.

“...talk...John...” John could barely hear Mycroft, and he crept toward the light emanating from the door frame. He was quiet as a mouse, just like Mousie.

“...finds out.” Greg's voice finally rang clear in the silence of the hallway.

“He could have done today, if he had found a way to translate what he'd heard.” 

John walked right up to the doorway, entranced by the conversion that he didn't understand but clearly involved him. He held his breath as Greg spoke again.

“You already know what I think. It's not my decision. It should be John's.”

At the mention of his name, John drew in an involuntary breath, harsh in the surrounding darkness. He waited for Mycroft to speak again, but crisp footsteps approached the door. John squeezed his eyes shut and held Mousie close.

“John,” Mycroft's voice prodded, “you should be in bed.”

“I had a nightmare.” Mousie was scared, so John kissed him on the top of the head, keeping his eyes shut.

“Look at me, John.” John opened his eyes and slowly looked up to Mycroft's impassive face. “How long were you listening to Greg and my conversation?”

Shaking his head, John turned his face back to Mousie. He didn't even want to look at Greg, afraid of the disapproval he might find on his face. Mycroft put a soft hand on John's cheek, and John could feel his gaze boring into the top of John's skull. “What did you hear, John?”

“My name, and Daddy's name,” he whispered.

Greg walked over, and John found himself loosely sandwiched between them as Greg ran his hand down the back of John's head. As scared as John was of the trouble he'd gotten himself into, he mostly just wanted to stay nestled there with their hands on him. “I'll take him back to bed,” Greg said, rubbing the back of John's neck. “Go to work. We can talk in the morning.”

Mycroft's fingers tightened marginally on John's face, and John felt his stomach churn and eyes sting. Then, Mycroft leaned in and kissed John on the top of his head. “Good night, John,” he said. “Sleep well.”

* * *

With a belly full of Weetabix and a lap full of Mousie, John sat on the sofa trying very hard to believe Greg's repeated reassurances that he wasn't in trouble. He knew he'd been naughty to spy on Greg and Mycroft, even if it hadn't been a rule, and Mycroft's face had looked even more serious than normal when he'd arrived home from work in the morning. When Mycroft had asked him to play in the lounge while he and Greg talked, John had initially refused, and it had taken a stern reminder from Mycroft to follow instructions and more than a bit of cajoling from Greg before John had reluctantly complied. Waiting alone in the quiet room, he wished he'd been more insistent.

When Mycroft and Greg finally came back in, John was sucking on his fingers again, and he quickly pulled his hand down to his side before Mycroft said anything to him about it. Greg sat down beside him and Mycroft in the chair opposite them both.

“I'm sorry,” John blurted out.

“It's okay, John,” Greg said, rubbing John's back. “You aren't in trouble.”

Mycroft set his laptop on the coffee table and regarded John thoughtfully. “John, as I mentioned yesterday, I know that you've been having a difficult time, and that you miss my brother greatly.”

John nodded and hugged Mousie tighter. He knew his daddy had to jump so the bad men wouldn't shoot him and Greg and Mrs. Hudson, but sometimes he wished his daddy had listened to him and stayed alive anyway. Maybe the bad men would have missed and then they could still live together.

“While I've discussed with you why Sherlock made the choice that he made, there are some things I haven't told you, for safety reasons.”

Scared of what he might hear, John leaned into Greg's shoulder and pulled his knees to his chest.

“John, there's something I would like to tell you, but if I do, you'll need to stay here with Greg and me. You won't be able to go back to your flat, your job, or any of your friends.”

“But I'm not doing that now.”

“No, but this would be an indefinite arrangement. Years, at least.”

Years sounded like a very long time. John cuddled Mousie, and Greg cuddled John in turn.

“Do you understand, John?” Greg asked. “You'd stay here and we'd take care of you until it's safe for you to go back.”

John did understand, but he didn't understand what his other options would be. He didn't want to go back to 221 Baker Street, not without his daddy, and he wasn't able to do his job or go out with his friends, anyway. “Is it a bad thing that you're going to tell me?” he asked Mycroft.

“No, you'll be very happy to hear what I have to tell you.”

“I want to live here with you and Greg anyway,” John said softly.

“Indefinitely,” clarified Mycroft, and John nodded.

Mycroft glanced at Greg, who nodded quickly, and John watched Mycroft warily.

“Sherlock is not dead. He..” Mycroft continued speaking, but John couldn't hear it over the rush in his ears. His head started to float, and he felt himself detach from his body. His vision dimmed, then suddenly there was a paper bag over his nose and mouth, and Greg was encouraging him to to breathe slowly.

He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. The room was still spinning softly around him, then he heard a familiar voice coming from the laptop's tinny internal speakers.

“Where is he, Mycroft? I don't have much time.”

“He's right here.” Mycroft turned the laptop around, and there on the screen, sitting in a darkened room in front of a table piled high with green vegetables, was John's daddy.

“Daddy!” John shouted, rushing at the computer. He put his hands and forehead on the screen, trying to get as close as he could to the image.

“John? I can't see you. You're too close to the camera.”

Greg's hands pulled John back until the little picture on the bottom right of the screen showed him clearly in the frame.

“Daddy, I miss you. When are you coming to get me?”

“When it's safe. Right now, I need you to stay with Mycroft and Greg.”

“But I miss you. Daddy, I want you to come home.”

“As do I, John, but it's not safe now. Have you been good for Mycroft and Greg?”

John faltered. Truthfully, he had not been very good. He'd disobeyed them just this morning, and he'd spied on them the night before. He didn't want to say that to Daddy, though.

“John's been great,” Greg cut in, but Daddy still looked sceptical.

“John, I promised Mycroft that you would be well behaved. I trust you will not break my promise to him,” he said sternly, but John didn't even care if he got in trouble when Daddy got home, as long as he could see him.

“I won't Daddy, but when are you coming home? I miss you, and Mousie wants to meet you.”

“Who is Mousie?”

John held Mousie up. “Uncle Greg gave him to me.”

“Greg gave you an anthropomorphic stuffed mouse?” Daddy's brow furrowed, and John hugged Mousie close.

“I love him.”

“Ah,” Daddy said, just like Mycroft.

“But I love you more, Daddy. I want you to come home. Mousie wants to kiss you, and I want to kiss you, too, and hug you.”

“I love you, too, John.” A man came into view, and Daddy looked over to him and nodded before turning back to the screen. “I have to go now, John. I'll talk to you as soon as I can.”

“But Daddy, I have to tell you some more things. I made some pictures for you of your favourite things, and I want to show you my spaceship, and I made some puzzles, and I want to talk to you some more.”

“Next time, John. I ca-” The screen went black, and part of John went black with it. He sat, stunned and boneless as Greg gathered him up and stroked his hair.

“I want to talk to him some more,” he said into Greg's chest.

“I'm making arrangements for you to talk again tomorrow,” Mycroft told him. “You should be able to see him for much longer.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but it's not guaranteed. It's possible he won't be able to talk until next week.”

It was inconceivable that he would be talking to his daddy again at all. He reached out for Mycroft, grabbing at the air until Mycroft appeared next to him. He pulled himself into Mycroft's chest, fiddling at the buttons on his waistcoat as Mycroft held him tight and the rest of the world faded away.

* * *

John woke to the sunlight streaming in through his window. It was late, and he wondered why Greg hadn't woken him for breakfast. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, John walked down the hallway to find Greg asleep in his bed, and John crawled in beside him, pulling the duvet around himself as he nestled into Greg's chest. Greg's arm quickly wrapped itself around him.

“Another nightmare?” he asked.

John shook his head. “I'm hungry. Why are you still sleeping?”

“It's Saturday. We already solved the case, so I'm not going in today.” Greg rubbed John's back, soothing him back towards sleep. “Mycroft will be back soon, and we'll eat breakfast together.”

The three of them had only eaten breakfast together once before. It had been John's first morning, last Sunday, and he'd barely touched the eggs and toast Greg had made him. Greg had tried to convince him to eat, and John had managed a few mouthfuls before getting sick all over the lino. He'd thought they'd be cross with him, but they'd just wiped off his face and helped him to rinse out his mouth before settling him on the sofa to watch telly.

“Can we have waffles?” he asked.

“I don't think we have a waffle iron,” Greg said. “I'll look when we get up.”

“I'll look now!” John offered, but Greg grabbed him around the waist before he could dart off the bed.

“No, you'll make a mess of the kitchen,” Greg forbade him, kissing away the sting of the admonishment. “If it's there, I'll find it. I'm a Detective Inspector, after all.”

John squirmed in Greg's hold, enjoying his thwarted attempts to escape. “So am I!”

“You are, are you? Where's your warrant card, then?” Greg teased.

“It's at my flat. Daddy gave it to me!”

“And does it have your name on it?”

“No, it has _your_ name on it,” John told him, and Greg frowned slightly before sighing and tapping John on the nose.

“Then you are in possession of stolen property.” Greg opened his mouth to continue, but the sound of the front door closing caught their attention.

“Mycroft!” John shouted, and he wriggled out of Greg's grasp to run into the hallway, Greg following behind at a much slower pace.

Mycroft was already in the kitchen, unloading bags onto the counter. John poked through them as Greg joined them and gave Mycroft a kiss. John giggled at them and then gasped as one of Mycroft's packages caught his eye.

“A waffle iron!” he shouted, turning to Greg with a grin.

Greg looked sideways at Mycroft. “How did you-” He cut himself off and shook his head, then gave Mycroft another kiss, this time with John looking straight at them. “Nevermind.”

“I want a kiss, too, Uncle Greg,” John said, leaning in toward him, and Greg obliged.

“Waffles?” he asked, and John nodded enthusiastically. “You can thank Mycroft for getting everything.”

“Thank you, Uncle Mycroft,” John said obediently, hugging him around the waist. “When can I talk to Daddy again?”

“If everything goes according to plan, after breakfast.”

John grinned. “Thank you,” he repeated, meaning it even more this time. “I love you. Also, I want syrup on my waffles.”

“I love you, too, and fruit is a much healthier choice.”

“Mycroft...” Greg said softly, and Mycroft's arms wrapped around John as well.

“However, you may have syrup if you prefer. And you may thank Greg for any health implications.”

“Thank you, Uncle Greg,” John said.

Greg laughed, and he suddenly appeared behind John to settle his arms loosely around both of them, with John trapped between their two bodies. 

“You're crushing me,” John complained, but Greg didn't let up, and Mycroft trained his trademark scrutinizing gaze on John.

“You're enjoying yourself,” he said, and John smiled a secret smile into his shirt. Surrounded by his uncles with the promise of waffles and talking to his daddy, he thought he might be.


End file.
